Few Would Understand
by ingrid-matthews
Summary: Prompt fic. Gladstone finally dies, Holmes is surprised and liberally confused by his emotional reaction over the event.


For pro-prodigy. An offering for the watsons_woes 250th member celebration.

Prompt: Gladstone finally dies, Holmes is surprised and liberally confused by his emotional reaction over the event.

0o0o

Four days out on a case and I can't remember ever being so glad to be home as I was that cold February morning.

Even Holmes, usually oblivious to the sentiments of home and hearth agreed. "A roaring fire, a bottle of wine and thou. Perhaps we'll invite the beast up on the settee for a snuggle as well."

"If he can get up there. He's dreadfully old now and his arthritis ..."

Holmes looked at me with an odd expression, part annoyance, part disdain. "Gladstone is a rare specimen, a credit to his species. There isn't a bulldog of finer temperament, constitution or fortitude in all of England. He could climb mountains, let alone settees." He paused. "Not that I entertain any particular affection for the beast, I am merely stating facts."

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing aloud. "I stand corrected. Now, hand me my bag, we're nearly there."

We trooped up the stairs, only to be met by Mrs. Hudson on the landing. Her eyes were ringed red and instantly, my heart sank. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Doctor Watson. I'm so sorry." She wiped her eyes with her apron. "The poor creature has left us. I called to him this morning for his meal and he never came. I went up to look and ..." She sniffled and wrung her hands.

"Oh dear," I said, feeling a surprisingly heavy twinge of sorrow. "Gladstone is dead? Oh, dear."

Holmes, who had watched this conversation with little interest when it began was now completely alert. "What? What do you mean? Nanny, did you kill our dog?!"

"Holmes!" I said sharply. I ushered them both inside. "Standing out here won't do us any good." Once indoors, Mrs. Hudson let out another small sob and I patted her on her shoulder. "He was very old. You mustn't worry yourself, I'm sure you took excellent care of him while we were away."

"If that's excellent care ..." Holmes began, his mouth twisted with extraordinary ire. He took a deep breath, as if trying to regain some measure of control. "I'm sure we're next on her list."

Mrs. Hudson drew herself up as if ready to argue and I placed myself between them, a hand on each shoulder. "Please, we are adults here are we not? Holmes, I beg of you, show some restraint. I know it's very upsetting ..."

Holmes stiffened at the accusation. "I didn't say I was upset. I'm merely trying to ascertain what has happened, old boy. Now, if you will kindly lead me to the body, Mrs. Hudson."

Her lips trembled, but she nodded. "He's in the kitchen, by the door. Mr. Haversham said he'd help us bury him out back."

Holmes stalked off and I followed. There was a thick towel laid out on the floor, right by the kitchen door just as Mrs. Hudson said. With a sigh, I pulled it off and knelt next to Gladstone's remains.

Except for some rigor obvious in the legs, he looked as he usually did. Peacefully asleep. "You can see there was no foul play here, Holmes. He was merely too old to continue."

Holmes mouth twitched but he said nothing. Slowly, he turned and walked away and I couldn't help but notice an odd slump to his shoulders.

I paid little mind at the time as my own grief was starting to well up in the form of a tight throat and stinging eyes. "My dear fellow," I whispered, stroking Gladstone's soft head. "How many days did you spend by my side when I had no one else in this world? How you lightened my heavy heart in those first few weeks in this city and how many happy times have we had since then. Rest, my good friend - my faithful, cherished creature. I won't forget you."

I'm not ashamed to admit I cried for a short time over him. He deserved as much. Drying my eyes, I headed upstairs into the study surprised to see Holmes sitting in his chair, a look of utter dejection lining his face.

In his hand was Gladstone's leash. He played with it between his fingers, letting it slide to the floor when I sat down beside him. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem upset over Gladstone." I put my arm around his shoulders. "There's no shame in that, you know. "

Grief fought with indignation for mastery of his voice. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm ... I'm just upset that Nanny has been rifling through my things, as usual. I'm not allowed to keep my own possessions as I please in this house. It's a travesty." His foot tapped against the rug. "We never should have gone away."

"What difference would that have made, Holmes? He would have died anyway," I said gently, touched by how desperately sad he was and how unwilling he was to admit it. I thought for a moment. "Here, how about this? I'll put in an advertisement for a new puppy and then ..."

My voice died away. He looked at me as though I'd suggested replacing _him_ via an advert. "And they call _me_ callous."

Pulling away, I sighed. "Forget I said anything."

That evening passed very quietly. Holmes refused to eat and I had no particular appetite myself. The rooms seemed drearier, the fire less warm and I felt as though something essential to our lives was missing.

How strange it sounds but our little family was now minus one honestly important component.

Our sleep that night was fitful at best. I rose early the next morning to greet Mr. Haversham and his shovel, Gladstone's ball tucked in my pocket. We buried him with as much honor as might be committed to such a ceremony and I have to admit I felt better once it was done.

Holmes refused to attend, making gruff noises about sentimentality and futility and I knew better than to push the matter.

He had to come to grips with this event in his own time, on his own terms.

In the meantime, I put an advertisement in the papers for the purchase of one good-tempered puppy, used to the indoors. No doubt I'd have a dozen offers by sundown.

Holmes was gone for most of the day. I passed the time with my notes and when the door downstairs opened, I heard what I could have sworn was the sound of a dog barking.

Not a grown dog, but the shrill yips of a puppy and Holmes walked in, a tiny bull pup in his arms. "You wouldn't believe what I discovered today in my travels, Watson."

I found myself smiling widely. "Do tell."

"Some foolish man was trying to give away these fine purebred dogs at the ludicrous price of a shilling apiece. To anyone who approached. Can you imagine? I barely managed to grab this perfect speciman before the rabble got a hold of him." He held up the puppy, examining its panting slobber as if it were a cause of great facination. "Society is plainly falling apart, my friend."

"Plainly." I edged my way around Holmes and looked at the pup. True to Holmes' word, he was perfect. "What are we going to name him?"

Holmes thought for a moment. "Samson. Strong and in no danger of receiving a haircut."

"Wonderful." My heart lifted, both for our new addition and for Holmes' recovery, odd as it was. "Shall we introduce him to Mrs. Hudson?"

Holmes glared at me. "So she can take her nefarious schemes out on our new dog? Watson, I'm surprised at you. Of all the foolish ideas, this one ..."

0o0o

A year later, I went out back to take Samson for a short walk as the weather was foul. It was freezing cold again, with bitter winds whistling through the trees. The dog wandered off and I followed him, eventually coming across Gladstone's stone marker, a large red quartz I'd taken from our rooms and placed there in his memory.

I stared at his grave with surprise. Lying atop the dirt was one of Holmes' experiment bottles, obviously put there as a cryptic memorial, one few would understand except for Holmes, myself ...

And Gladstone.

~*~

end

*sniffle*


End file.
